He watches her glide over the snow toward him. She has always moved with an animal grace; it is especially strange in this child’s body. She pauses before him, on the opposite side of the stream. Cold, midnight waters trickle between them. “‘Stones in motion,’” she quotes. “‘Tools cleft in two. The wyrm fell to the daughter made of moonlight long ago. He just did not know it yet.’ Well, he certainly knows now, though I wonder why you killed him in the end.”
He sniffs. “I had to ensure the job was done.”
“Liar.” She laughs, a sound that echoes with who she’d been a thousand years ago. It makes his heart hurt to hear. “But that has always been your problem, hasn’t it? Keeping secrets. Playing a game without sharing the rules. Tell me, Trickster—”
“Do not call me that.”
“—is it hubris that makes you this way? Or is it that deep down, you are so lonely you want to be caught. That you have always wanted to be caught, just so someone would notice you are still here.”
His teeth grind in his ears. “So you have come to gloat, have you?”
“Not entirely.” She sighs and extends an open palm, watching as the snow lands upon her skin. “I have come to persuade. You have always controlled people sideways. Manipulating and guiding, but never directly confronting.”
“Spoken like an Earthwitch.”
“But in the end, no human can truly be another’s puppet—and no human can truly be a puppeteer. You would have been better served telling them the truth, just as you would have a thousand years ago with the Six. With me.”
He glares at her now, unable to maintain his careful cool. She has always had this effect on him. “I was not the one to betray you, Saria. The Lament was wrong. The one who turned on five was never me.”
“No,” she says with a sad smile. “I don’t think it was.” Her hand finally falls, and she turns away from the Rook King, away from the dark, whispering stream between them.
“I tried to give the Cahr Awen an army,” he calls after her, more bitter than he wants to be—and certainly more bitter than he wants Saria to hear. “I tried to give them soldiers that would keep them safe, but they rejected my plans in the end.”
“You mean they rejected you.” She glances back with her glittering teardrop eyes. “Just as She once did. Because you love no one but yourself and you will always be alone.” Then, as she strides away once more, leaving tiny footprints in her wake, a soft song ripples across the clearing:
“Never trust what you see in the shadows,
for Trickster he hides in darkness and dapples.
High in a tree, deep underground,
never trust when Trickster’s around.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
There are always so many people to thank at the end of a book. This book in particular was a beast—the ultimate craft challenge of my life while I was going through a lot of personal upheaval too. It took me far more time than any other book to finish, and I owe so many thanks to the incredible team at Tor Teen for supporting me the entire way. And I also have to shout-out to my editors, Diana Gill and Lindsey Hall. This book finally found its shape because of you.
To my friends Alex Bracken, Erin Bowman, Leigh Bardugo, Victoria Aveyard, and Shanna Hughes: I leaned on you all so hard throughout this book, creatively and emotionally. Thank you for always being there.
To Melody Simpson, Samantha Tan, Sanya Macadam, Melissa Lee, Cait Listro: thank you for being early readers who helped me both fix the gaping story holes and find the problematic plot points—all while cheering me on when I needed it most.
To Joanna Volpe, Jordan Hill, Abigail Donoghue, and the entire team at New Leaf: we’ve been together a decade—can you believe it?—and you’re still the best advocates and friends a gal could ever ask for.
To Mom and Dad, David and Jen, I hope you enjoy this story that is all about family. Know that I love you, even if I’m not the best at saying it or showing it. It’s written here, so that makes it true.
To the Frenchman: the last two years of our life were one heck of a journey. We logged hundreds of IVF needles and more loss than I want to look back on, but we made it. Together. And now we have a beautiful, perfect human to show for it. I have never loved you more.
And to that beautiful, perfect human: I started drafting this book when you were just an embryo being formed for IVF, and I finished writing it shortly after you were born. Becoming your mom was the best choice I ever made, Cricket, and the best battle I ever fought. It wasn’t until you existed in this world that I could finally understand Gretchya’s character. This story is for you.
Finally, to the Witchlanders (or are you DenNerds now?), thank you!!!! I cannot say it enough or add enough exclamation points to fully encompass how grateful I am. This series exists because of you and for you, and our cozy community has been my safe spot for the past three years. I truly hope you’ve enjoyed Witchshadow.
ALSO BY SUSAN DENNARD
Sightwitch
Truthwitch
Windwitch
Bloodwitch
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
SUSAN DENNARD is the author of the New York Times bestselling Witchlands series as well as the Something Strange and Deadly series. She has come a long way from small-town Georgia. Working in marine biology, she got to travel the world—six out of seven continents (she’ll get to Asia one of these days!)—before she settled down as a full-time novelist and writing instructor. When not writing, she can be found hiking with her dogs, slaying darkspawn on her Xbox, or earning bruises at the dojo. Sign up for email updates here.
Visit her on the web at
susandennard.com
thewitchlands.com
Twitter and Instagram at @stdennard
Facebook at facebook.com/SusanDennardAuthor
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Map
Epigraph
Beginnings
Part I. Puppeteer
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Part II. Witch Shadows
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Forty-Two